Home
by Republic of Yolossia
Summary: His memory had been wiped clean of everything, except three facts: His name was Sadik Adnan. He had to get out of this place. He needed to find his son before... they did.
1. Home

_Kuzey- TRNC_

_…_

_...Don't judge me. Okay, this will definitely be the last fic I start, but I really like writing horror! _

_So yes, also based on a picture I posted on DA and Tumblr that got pretty popular, this time one of Turkey lost in the woods with a short explanation to a plot. I won't explain much of the plot, in case there are people who haven't seen the photo, but I will say it has a new setting: a fictional indoor kids play area similar to Wacky Warehouse in the UK, but with extra rooms like a bowling alley and arcade etc. So basically a huge building for kids._

_Again, I won't give any spoilers away, but there are quite a few warnings: murder, torture, blood, and general nasty things. So yeah proceed with caution._

...

His head seared with sharp, agonising pain, as if it had been split open with an axe. It might well have been, but he had no way of telling, other than he was still alive, still just about able to string a thought together. The pain came in waves and dragged him back into consciousness; it refused to allow him to slip under- slip back to sleep or coma or even death- and eventually he could feel cold, hard tiles pressing against his face and chilling his cheek. Warm blood dripped from his nose onto his face and the ground. He wanted to sleep though. He was so tired. It hurt to think.

Eventually, he could sense his whole body, freezing and thrown in an uncomfortable position, half of it pressed up against the floor. A thin coil of rope dug into his wrists and bound them together in front of him and one of his elbows poked against his chest, adding to the pain and discomfort.

This was all he knew.

He could not divulge his location, situation or even name, even if his very life were to depend on it. He had no clue as to what string of events caused him to be here, if there had been a life before this or what was beyond his closed eyelids. The pain made sure they stayed closed for the time being.

He wasn't too sure he wanted to know where he was, or what horrors would await him once he awoke. Nothing had disturbed his dull, distressed groaning so far. Maybe his suffering was in isolation after all. There was a nagging feeling in his chest though, like there was something he had to do. Something important. But what?

Far in the distance, the noise of thousands of rocks hitting brick could be heard, faint and soothing, and his only company.

He did not know how long he lay there, barely registering he was alive, before his frigid fingers gave the tiniest of twitches. He wiggled his toes, flared his nostrils and shifted a leg until he finally breathed life into all of his creaking joints. There was a dull pain in his shoulder, and one of his legs stung, but he didn't appear to have any serious injuries, besides the one in his head.

Well what now?

He decided there was nothing left to do but get up. If he could, that is.

With great effort, he fought the waves of pain and opened his eyes, the first thing in his line of sight being the tiles he was laying on. They were cracked and caked with a layer of grime, their original colour lost to time and the pitch-blackness of the room. He could see little else.

He lifted his head up, vision swimming and it took all his effort to pull himself into a sitting position. A set of stairs dug into his lower back, but he didn't turn around. He just stared at the black stain on the floor where his head had been. Had he fallen? Possible, but who tied his hands together? All the clues pointed to him being thrown down the stairs, but why? What had he seen or done?

Who did this?

He looked around, but the darkness was too much and all he could see was the strap of a rucksack. Well, it was something at least.

He reached forward, and pulled it towards him. It was open, torn with its contents spilling everywhere. Tangled in the strap was a torch, thankfully, and he grinned as he picked it up and turned it on. It worked.

With that shaky circle of light, he finally looked around the room he was in, and was greeted by a wooden table surrounded by chairs, too small for someone his size to sit on. The white table cloth draped over it was torn and covered in newspaper; a chilling sight, but he knew he'd have to read those later- they might hold clues to getting him out of here. The chair nearest to him, at the end with its back facing him, was carved into the shape of a throne, streamers draping over the thing and a pile of ruffled velvet resting on the arm. Faded paintings of clowns adorned the walls, faces distorted by the cracked plaster and shadows.

He was in a children's party room, he realised. But why? He was clearly an adult! He looked down at his hand, large and rough. What business did he have here? It wasn't like he had children or anything, and even if he did, it was clearly after hours.

On the wall closest to him was a message, scrawled in something dark and still dripping.

_We didn't mean to go this far, but you left us with no choice. Go home._

He frowned. But who did this? And why?

He wanted to go home. He'd happily leave this place and whoever was in here but he couldn't! He didn't know where his home was, or if he even had one. And he must've come here for a reason, right? If whoever was here wanted him gone, then surely they weren't the ones who brought him to this place.

A quick glance around the room bore few other clues, other than the place was completely decrepit. It wasn't just after hours, the place had clearly been shut down for some time. The room had no windows, though he could still hear the rain.

Turning his attention back to the rucksack, he pulled out the empty cover of a book, pages torn out with a few scraps remaining. He set it on the floor using the torch to read the tiny, neat handwriting.

_I want to go home… I don't like London… She's so kind… It's boring here… Baba's always busy…_

He frowned. What on earth did these mean? Did he write these? Well, at least he had pretty handwriting!

And again with this talk of home...

The rest of the bag's contents were quickly shaken out: smashed mobile phone, probably broken in the fall; a soft, leather wallet; a dusty map; and- thankfully- a small pocket knife. It seemed he had been an organised person- and hopefully he still was.

The sight of the knife brought a grin to his face, and he picked it up, using the thing with some difficulty to saw away the ropes around his wrists. Free at last! He rubbed his wrists, hissing at the sting.

He didn't think the wallet would provide that much information, but he decided to have a look anyway.

The lack of money was immediately obvious. Had he been mugged or was he just poor? Neither sounded too pleasant to him. Where money should have been, however, there was an interesting collection of items. He pulled out a Turkish drivers license, bearing a photograph and name, presumably his. His name was Sadik Adnan? And he certainly was a handsome chap, he noted as he stared at the tiny photograph on the left, a headshot of a man with a chiselled face and neat stubble. The considerably newer oyster card confirmed his identity, though he was a little disappointed to see how old he'd gotten. His styled brown hair was now flecked with grey, and there were more lines around his eyes. He tried to imagine that face in the dark, hair caked in blood from a large gash, but couldn't. It just didn't feel real.

The last thing in the wallet was a pair of tiny, wrinkled photographs, one of himself and a small boy, no older than five, smiling at the camera, the other of the same boy, a couple of years older and frowning. He held an ice cream, melting and covering his hand, though he didn't seem to notice, too preoccupied with glaring at whoever was taking the picture.

He had a child? A young son? Sadik turned second the photograph over and found a caption scrawled on the back: My dear son Kuzey, the best thing to happen to me.

Kuzey...

The name sounded familiar, though he could've sworn he'd never heard it before.

Was Kuzey here? Had they gone into this place together and been separated, or was he here to look for Kuzey? He hoped the child was at home, safe and sound and not wandering around lost and afraid.

There was only one way to find out though. Sadik pocketed the wallet and packed up the bag, picking up the map to see where he was.

As he did so, a memory flashed before his eyes, a blurred image of his own hand picking up the same map illuminated by torch light. A feeling of joy came over him, the feeling that he was making progress; it was from the memory.

And in a flash, it was gone.

Sadik frowned as he looked at the map, what the hell just happened? He remembered something? Well why couldn't it be something useful? Like where his son was!

He glared down at the map, trying to ignore his pounding headache and make sense of the thing. It was brightly coloured, and clearly designed for children, and his heart fell as he realised just how big the place was. 'A World of Fun for Kids' play area certainly seemed like a whole world, and Sadik wasn't too sure where he was in the building, given that there were two rooms labelled 'party room', an upstairs one and a downstairs one. He glanced behind him; oh, right, the downstairs one, most likely.

Well, now he had two objectives: find his son and get out. Seemed simple enough, so long as he was actually able to stand up.

Sadik zipped up the rucksack and slung it over his shoulder, grabbing the torch and map before slowly pulling himself to his feet, clumsily and awkwardly like a toddler. His head swam and his vision doubled as he stood up straight, and it took all his strength to not collapse and throw up. He felt so sick, like his stomach was churning and writhing, everything in front of him blurred and melted. He stood as still as he could, waiting out the long minutes until his sight steadied and the immediate threat of vomiting passed.

Deciding it was safe to move, he turned around, fighting another wave of dizziness to look up the stairs. The place was deserted.

He chanced one more look around the room, and remembered the pile of newspaper clippings on the table. Well, it could be worth checking them out.

He slowly, shakily walked towards the table, focused on the papers though the ruffled material- a sleeve- resting on the throne also caught his eye. Was it a doll?

Reaching the table, he glanced at the throne and nearly jumped in the air.

Nailed to the throne, in a tattered party dress, was the battered, mutilated body of a small child.


	2. Baba

_Charlotte- Wy_

_..._

_First of all, sorry for the delay. I'm still working on all the little details of the plot, designing characters and making sure it's as sad and horrifying as I can make it._

_Secondly, should I change the title? I was struggling to come up with one when I went to publish the first chapter, and picked 'home' as that seemed to be a recurring theme, forgetting there is already a film called that. _

_But yeah, hope everyone reading enjoys this, and feedback is always appreciated._

...

Sadik couldn't help it, the sight sent him doubling over and he violently vomited on the floor, in a small pool at the foot of the throne. He hated the sound it made as it splashed against the tiles, and the horrible acidic smell it gave off, adding to the stench of the room. He was on his knees as another wave of sick came, and his limbs trembled in exhaustion as more and more followed. There was flecks of the stuff on the arms of his jacket and the ruffles of the girl's dress now. By the time his stomach had stopped contracting and finally emptied, he could barely keep awake and was struggling to breathe. The place already stank of rotting flesh and black mould, mixed together in a horrifying cocktail that assaulted his nostrils. The inside of his mouth was disgusting now, bile mixed with coffee and overly-sugary, half-digested sweets.

Just what evil had he stumbled across here?

He didn't want to look at it.

It took all his willpower to wipe his mouth and glance up at the tiny, broken body, and once he saw her, it was impossible to tear his eyes away.

The child wasn't Kuzey, he could tell that much. She was a little girl, dark hair in a tangled mess and a dress caked in black blood. A cardboard crown was perched on her head- the kind given out at parties to the birthday child.

The nails keeping her in place were large and rusty, hammered in though her wrists and shoulders, and from the way the wounds were torn, he could tell that had been done to her whilst she was still alive. She'd struggled, that was clear, and continued the struggle despite the agony, and the thought turned his knees to jelly and his arms to lead. The poor child…

Who would do such a thing? And why? What sort of cruel world did he live in where something like this could be allowed to happen? He tried to ignore the burning in his eyes as tears began to form.

Her face was almost unrecognisable, parts the skin carved away with a knife with the remaining covered in bruises, and the blood...

The stuff was everywhere, tangled in her hair, crusted on her tiny nose, on her closed eyelids, dried drops running from her eyes down her cheeks. Even her little ribbon- holding her messy hair in a side ponytail- was flecked in the stuff.

"Who did this to you?" he whispered, barely audible. Not that it mattered; he was alone! Who would hear him?

Apart from whoever had killed the girl. If they were still here... well, Sadik knew he should be scared of them, but the only thing going through his mind at the thought was that he'd be soon showing them what a real head injury looked like!

Unsurprisingly, he got no reply from the child, and focused his attention on pulling himself up, arms still weak and trembling and he had to lean heavily on the table. His sweaty hands slipped as the newspaper cuttings stuck to his palm, and Sadik frowned. Oh yeah, he was supposed to look at them!

Sadik, squirming under what felt like the burning gaze of the child, gathered the clippings up, quickly glancing over each one. They all told of the same story, of the disappearance of 6 year old Charlotte Cooper, her brothers' pleas for her safe return, of a missing person's inquiry turning into a murder case. Still no leads. Body not found. Local woods combed by police. Oldest brother found innocent of abduction. Body still not found. More pleas to the public.

Body never found.

"Well, I guess I just solved this case, huh Charlotte?" he tried to smile, but couldn't bring himself to move his lips, settling on a humourless laugh. Even the corpse seemed to be giving him a withering look.

The stare seemed to continue when he asked her where his son was, and Sadik sighed, stuffing the clippings into his rucksack. He hoped with all his heart Kuzey wasn't here, wasn't being tortured in another room. Was that why he was here though? Because some evil bastard had kidnapped his son and he was supposed to rescue him? He glanced down at the girl. Or were these murderers indiscriminate of age and he was the one that would be carved up?

If that was so, he hoped Kuzey was safe, maybe still asleep or at school and not putting himself in danger to look for his Baba. He hoped there was someone who could look after him, but he had no way of knowing if there was someone else in their lives. Where was Kuzey's mother? Did he just have a Baba?

Baba? Of course, that's what Kuzey called him! He blinked and another- tiny- memory flashed before him. Stony amber eyes rolled in annoyance, whining that Baba was being embarrassing. A laugh. His own laugh. It boomed in his ears and his hand reached out to ruffle his son's hair.

And it was gone, just like that.

"Kuzey isn't here," he whispered to himself, "he can't be. I refuse to believe it."

Yet the words sounded oh so forced.

"Is he here?" he tried again, looking pleadingly at Charlotte, though she remained silent. He looked at the message on the wall, telling him to go home, and sighed. If that had been left for him, then surely he wasn't supposed to be here, though it made no sense if whoever was here was keen on keeping their actions a secret. And someone clearly still lived here, if they were leaving messages for him. But why would they tell him to go home if he'd come here by mistake? Surely they'd want to silence him.

He groaned and sat on one of the tiny chairs; this whole place made no sense!

Hang on… he lifted his head from his hands, blood turning cold as his anger was finally replaced by fear. Were the killers still here? Looking for him? Coming back to kill him? Hunting down Kuzey? He could threat all he wanted, but, truly, he was in no state to fight anyone, should it come down to that. He could hardly walk, let alone fend himself against armed murderers.

He had to leave.

Sadik stood up, causing another wave of dizziness to hit him, and he stumbled before slipping on his own sick, once more crashing to the floor.

"Why is this happening to me?" he groaned. Deciding it was time for a break- and a plan- before he set off, he opened up the map once more, wondering just how he was supposed to navigate this thing, and where the hell were the exits? Sure, this map was designed for children, but it would've helped to include the exits!

A series of bumps on the back of the paper brushed under his fingers, and he frowned, turning the map over and holding it close to his face as he used the torchlight to decipher the untidy scribble- the same from the back of the photographs- that was apparently his handwriting. It was written in a hurry, which didn't help at all. His head swam and refused to process the words; he stared at the squiggles, certain that they were supposed to mean something but they wouldn't sink in.

It was a good five minutes and a raging headache before he deciphered the six words in front of him.

"I'm sorry Kuzey. I'll find you."

Written by his hand, on a piece of paper picked up in this very building? Well there was no doubt as to Kuzey's whereabouts now.

"Oh fuck my entire life," he muttered, voice increasingly slurred and louder the angrier he became, "I don't remember any of it but fuck my entire life! Every moment! Fuck it with a giant strap-on! Over and over! No lube! I have the contents of my stomach up my jeans, a dead body for company and a murderer has my son! It's not like it could get any worse! So just fuck my life!"

He sat up, rubbing his face and fighting another wave of vomit. Oh don't go and throw up again; I already smell like a skip, he groaned to himself.

"I guess I should go find him," Sadik muttered, "oh please be okay."

He pulled himself up and grimaced as he glanced over at Charlotte.

"Sorry little lady," he told her, "didn't mean for you to hear that."

The message on the wall was still there, and he shrugged as he looked at it. Yes, he was going to ignore it. There was no way he was going home without Kuzey! He was either saving his son or not leaving the place again!

Hopefully the former, because he really did want to find out what his life was like.

"Let's do this then," hand against the wall and leaning heavily, Sadik began to make his way up the stairs, unable to escape the feeling that he was being watched. It made every hair on his body stand on end and he shuddered as he climbed up.

He looked up to distract himself, and found a trail of papers near the top, ripped and left in a series of messy piles. He didn't like the ominous feeling in his stomach as he wondered just where that trail was leading to.


End file.
